


Honeypot

by Anonymous



Series: The Noose Around My Neck [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Asphyxiation, Dark, Dirty Talk, Dubious Consent, Fisting, Intersex Omegas, Jason is a bug in a venus flytrap, M/M, Manipulation, Nipple Torture, Plot What Plot, Roman is a paranoid bastard, Rough Sex, Sexist Language, Spanking, The tiniest amount of feminization, Turns into Rape/Non-Con at the end, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2019-04-07 13:06:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14081565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: While working undercover for Bruce in the False Face Society Jason unwittingly starts a game of seduction with Roman in order to get the information he needs.Jason only realizes much later how it was never going to end in his favor.





	Honeypot

**Author's Note:**

> A small add on I said.

When Jason was in grade school under Bruce's nickel and dime, one of his professors at Gotham Academy had a cage with two rats.

Male and female. Both so mean and vicious that the first time the teacher put them in a cage together they painted the glass walls of the terrarium with each other's blood. Jason remembers it vividly. The way he stared at the ruby red droplets on the glass and thought about how much it looked like strawberry jam. Despite the pleas from the students to separate them--"they're fighting, can't you see they don't like each other?"--the professor kept them together as an experiment. A biology lesson to prove that it didn't matter how hard the rats fought each other, eventually biology would prevail and the female rat would carry and bear the male's litter. It was supposed to be about the inevitability of life even in the harshest of circumstances or personal prejudice. In the end she did and the professor gave the bloody litter to the department head who owned a python.

Jason saw it as a lesson in helplessness. No matter what he did society would see him as nothing more than a body they had to beat into obedience. It's the reason Jason has a problem with any sort of authority. Refuses to be cornered, waiting for the meanest alpha to come by and force him to bend into something he's not.

He's lucky. Bruce, despite his faults and controlling demeanor, is the best guardian the universe gifted him with.

Bruce didn't care about his sex. Majority of the population were betas, including the all-powerful Batman. Alphas and omegas were nothing but a remnant of an ancient time. A vestigial organ not yet fully bred out through evolution. Give it another hundred years and Jason would be nothing more than a nameless number in a statistic. Bruce Wayne, the billionaire playboy. The epitome of male idolatry. Gotham's beloved man's man. Not one to be tied down by silly things like alpha posturing and omegan subservience. "Beta" had stopped being used long ago. You were just a "man" or "woman." Jason had Bruce to thank for never feeling weak or stupid or incompetent about his sex. 

Jason knows that had Bruce actually been educated by the American school system, and not by some ancient order of monks in the Himalayas—that really didn't see the point making laws on whether or not alpha girls and omega boys needed their own dressing rooms—things might have been different. Instead, Bruce only saw that Jason's sex, if anything, gave him an advantage. Even over his beloved predecessor. Lowered center of gravity in his hips made it easier for Jason to learn how to climb and balance at the same age Dick, with his skinny shoulders and growing body, struggled. Dick also never had the option of using oncoming fevers to distract opponents. A skill Jason had mastered when he was very, _very_ young.

The idea that fevers, heats, or whatever else the biology textbook called them, rendered omegas delirious in their need to shove a cock inside them was probably created by a group of horny men angry no one in the world would take them. Fevers, Jason learned, only came every three months, made him smell something like milk chocolate and pennies, and forced him to continually produce slick the moment the wind changed direction. There, of course, was that urge to fuck everything and anything that moved. The idea, however, that it was so debilitating that anyone would spend the four or three days it lasted lying in bed fingering themselves until the most eligible alpha broke down their door and knotted them was as laughable as it was insane. Even in the deep days of his infatuation with his foster father and older brother he never came close to wandering into their rooms in the middle of his heat and asking them to take one for the team. 

Sure they starred in some fever-induced wank fests, but Jason was able to put up with them as easily as he did on any given day. The only ones that seemed to be unable to work with Jason in the midst of his fever were criminals with sensitive noses of the Hannibal Lecter variety and alphas.

Like Roman fucking Sionis.

Jason has only met three men that have regarded him as little more than a summary of his parts. The first was his own father who tried to barter him off to the pimps in East End where no one was ever too young to stand at a street corner. Ra's was an unsurprising second given his rejection of Talia and Nyssa as possible heirs. Roman with his Mad Men-era ideals cranked up to a thousand as the latest edition in the worst men Jason's ever known.

So when Bruce first came to Jason with the idea of going undercover in the False Face Society Jason had laughed. 

"And be what exactly?" Jason said, "their secretary?"

If Roman could even put aside his sexism enough for that. Roman's long string of ex-girlfriends and omegas were nothing more than trust fund mafia brats whose hard working days consisted of choosing between the pink or white cellphone. Until that is, daddy coughed up money for their baby to buy both. 

"No matter what Roman thinks he's not stupid enough to let someone of your caliber go." Bruce had always been uncomfortable talking about those things. Jason's weird... _parts_. They were right up there next to intimacy and emotions on Bruce's list of "things he'd rather pretend didn't exist." The fact that he was coming to Jason knowing it would involve a discussion about how weird Jason was in comparison to the rest of the normal, beta-born Robins meant things were serious.

"My caliber," Jason weighed the word in his mouth and shakes his head. "He'd reject me out of spite alone. Or maybe you've forgotten that Roman and I don't exactly have the nicest history."

Firing a rocket at his building, destroying his cache of illegally gotten kryptonite, burning a wooden skull mask to his face doesn't provide the best start to a meaningful relationship. Color him surprised. Bruce frowned in that son-please-I-am-making-an-attempt-at-bringing-you-back-into-the-family-I-am-also-very-desperate way and Jason crumpled the same people do with a cute puppy. If that puppy, of course, was also a grizzled, middle-aged man with a terrible case of emotional constipation.

Jason backtracked. "For how long?"

Bruce relaxed, if only minutely. "Just a few months. Bruno Mannheim has been receiving weapon shipments from Qurac through False Face Society contacts. I would rather find out what Sionis could stand to gain from a partnership with Mannheim rather than just confiscating their weapon caches.”

That’s cutting it real close to his heat. Jason’s never used the heat excuse before. Always worked through it, no worse for wear than he would with a mild fever. Having his heat around Roman though? Jason can think of a million and more reasons as to why that’s a terrible idea. Suppressants are out of the question. Jason’s allergic to all of them and Jason has no medical records or doctor to prescribe him birth control in the meantime--not that Jason's ever needed it before anyway. But the realization that Bruce would probably replace him with Dick or, god, Tim with a bastard as sadistic as Sionis is out of the question.

"Sounds simple enough.” True, it’d be easier to sweet-talk it out of Mannheim, but Bruce--nor Jason for that matter--would ever put any of the girls in range of that sleaze ball's greasy fingers. Hell, it said something that Bruce was sending Jason after _Roman_ rather than Mannheim who was considerably less vocal about his omega prejudice. Then again Roman was less likely to _eat_ Jason if he said the wrong thing.

"It should be. Get the information then get out without a fuss."

"Sounds more like a vacation than an undercover mission."

Bruce's gaze hardened. "Don't underestimate Roman just because you've managed to outsmart him before. He can be infinitely more cunning when he wants to be."

"Yeah," Jason rolled his eyes. "Because the first thing I think when I look at Black Mask is _smart_."

It's his first in a long line of terrible mistakes.

\--

There's a bit of a fuss and pushback when Jason first comes to Roman. He’s looking for a partner to plot against the Batman. Teaming up with the Black Mask to use the False Face Society’s underworld contacts is his best bet.

Breaking into the moving car had been easy and while Dick's more of the showman between the Robins, there's nothing wrong with a flashy, threatening entrance. Roman, however, laughed at him. As if he were nothing more than a bunny that learned a cute trick. Then he pats the cheek of Jason's helmet despite the gun forced against the bottom of his chin.

"I admire your dedication, sweet pea, but this isn't a job for someone who'd roll onto their stomach and present the moment Batman breaks in. I need _men_ , not omegas." Then he rested his hand low on Jason's thigh.

Jason left Roman with a fractured hand and the men in his entourage with a series of black eyes, broken bones, and dark bruises. Figures, Roman would reject him immediately no matter how tempting Jason's offer was. Only an alpha like Roman, so up his own ass with his own alpha superiority would say no. It was only later that same night, while Jason was nursing a drink in a back booth at The Stacked Deck, that Roman approaches him. 

He slides on to the opposite seat, cigarette lit and in hand, with a brace on his wrist and an apology on his lips.

"You understand that what I said earlier was for the men there, right Jason?" Not sweet pea, not honey, not pumpkin, but his actual name. The last time Roman called him anything other than some insulting pet name was when he was Robin and too young to have a distinct and telling scent. "I have to control the men same way you do a pack of wild animals. Can't be showing weakness around them, even if it's as small as bringing an omega into the gang."

"If you came all the way here to lecture me on how you run your gang, which is poorly, by the way, you can shove that advice back where the sun don't shine, Roman. I don't make it a habit of talking to people I hate in my downtime." Jason downs the rest of his drink and stands up. Roman grabs his wrist.

Now normally, when a handsy guy or gal grabbed Jason he'd take the serrated knife Talia had gifted him post-resurrection and impale it through their hand. Roman expects it. Holding on loosely, body poised to leap back at any moment. Jason surprises himself by only tugging his arm free, letting the hand hang limply at his side as he crowds Roman back in the booth.

Roman goes, eyes narrowing at the way Jason, _a weak, brainless omega_ , towers over him. Jason quirks his head to the side almost inviting Roman to snap at him. Part of him expects it. How else would Roman act when Jason's above him? He should be on his knees, thankful that Roman was kind enough to give him a chance. Roman sucks in a light breath and straightens up in his seat. And then, to Jason's total shock, ducks his head in submission.

"Whatever I think about your kind is irrelevant. I'm not blind and I'm not dumb. You’re talented and it'd be useful to have someone who knows so much about the bat on my payroll."

Jason sneers. _Your kind_ like there was something so inherently different about the two of them. "I'll think about it."

He goes home and spends the rest of the night buzzing with restless energy. The image of Roman showing him the ruined lines of his throat burned into the back of his eyelids. He wakes up with slick-soaked sheets and curses himself for being so sexually unavailable that crime lords are giving him wet dreams now.

At least, that is, until he finishes rubbing one out among the ruined linens, teeth digging into the skin of his knuckles. He can admit that's always been a little fucked up.

\--

A week later Roman’s showing Jason the Gotham skyline from the roof of the Janus Cosmetics building in that sort of Simba-Mufasa "one day this will all be yours" way. He sounds sincere. Going on and on about needing an heir and that maybe, should Jason prove resourceful enough, might have a place in his future empire. Except the "accidental" brush of Roman's hand against his lower back while leading Jason into the building isn't fatherly. Unless that is, Roman doesn't mind a little incest in his family gatherings. Jason's not stupid enough of a man, let alone that fickle an omega, to be brought in by the promise of wealth and fortune. Seduction, Jason learned under Talia's tutelage, can come in a multitude of forms varying from sex to power to companionship. Anything that could be bartered. The most important rule, however, in playing such a risky game is you have to rig it if you want to win it. 

If Roman wants to tempt Jason with power then Jason decides he might as well use the most valuable weapon in his arsenal to gain what he needs. His body. Roman makes lewd suggestions. Everyone who knew his orientation has. Even the most upstanding men--yes, even Supes wasn't immune to the discouraging comment--but never attempted to act on it. He might not even be Roman's type. That typically ran in skinny, tanned, and blonde with big tits and plumper mouths. 

Jason could barely fit his thigh into the bikinis Roman's arm candy used to wear. Putting his body on the table so early in this game is a gamble. However, he'd rather make the rules concerning what is done to it than be forced to use it out of desperation as a last ditch to sway Roman. Then Jason wouldn't be able to make the rules of what happened to it.

(Not that it even mattered in the end).

That night during dinner Roman's men served them deviled duck hearts with onions and chocolate cheesecake with a strawberry drizzle for dessert. Roman doesn’t eat so much as he drinks glass after glass from a bottle of wine that costs more than Jason’s dad made in a year. Satisfied just watching Jason eat. Dark eyes were drawn down to the slip of the silver fork between his lips after every bite. Perhaps, Roman did like some of his toys with a little more meat.

Jason tests his hypothesis by dragging a finger through the decorative red drizzle design on the plate, lifting it to his open mouth and _sucking_.

If it weren’t for the glint of savage desire that’s there and gone again, Jason would’ve thought that maybe Roman was smarter than the average horny alpha or beta man he’d tricked before. That he had a better handle on physical lust with his long and expansive list of past conquests. Although in the end, it's not even a question. Roman is no better than a starving dog taunted with the promise of a bone. 

Roman catapults Jason to a lieutenant position the next morning, regardless of the gossip from the low-level False Face Society members who cursed being born _men_.

“If all I had to do was open my legs to get a pay raise I’d have retired by now,” a partially vicious one comments just loud enough for Jason to catch on his way to the garage. “Everything’s just handed to you if you’ve got a tight enough cunt.”

“I doubt it,” the other says. “Red Hood’s only been here a day and he rolled onto his back within the hour. He’s done it enough to be looser than the broads in Crime Alley. Probably gives a good blow job though.”

Jason doesn’t hit them, doesn’t make a scene. He doesn’t do anything to cast more clout on the suspicion that accuses him of being nothing more than a hormonal, whimpering omega. What he does is find out which cars the men drove and siphoned the gas from their tanks then cut the brake lines. Neither die, but both wind up in the hospital. Roman finds out because Jason's about as subtle as a wrecking ball when he’s that mad—he did, after all, rig an abandoned building to blow while holding the Joker at gunpoint in front of Bruce. He’s called up to Roman’s penthouse the same night Donny and Frankie, or whatever stereotypical goon names they have, wind up eating their meals through tubes.

Roman languidly stretched out in his obscenely big, gothic leather chair, beckons Jason over when he finally steps out of the elevator.

“Come here.” 

Jason doesn’t budge. “I’d rather not.”

“And I’d rather have men that could follow simple orders and keep in line, but we can’t always get what we want.” Roman lowers his voice, bordering on the edge of that dangerous don't-fuck-with-me tone. “Get over here.”

Jason hesitates, weighs the option of outright defying Roman and knowing how much further it would complicate gaining access to Mannheim's business deals, and goes. When he gets close enough Roman snatches his wrist, far too quick for Jason to counter, and wrenches him over his lap. 

“What the fuck are you doing-“ Jason snarls before Roman delivers three sharp and fast slaps directly to his ass.

“If you’re going to throw a tantrum like a spoilt pet, Jason, then I’m going to treat you like one." Roman places a hand hard against the space between his shoulders while the other dips beneath the band of his pants. The belt catches on his hipbones and Roman rumbles out this awful, displeased noise that makes cold sweat break across Jason's neck. Roman tears the fabric of his pants apart along the seam as easily as a sheet of paper and pulls his underwear down through new entryway. Jason swallows and ducks his head, dizzy with a wave of hot and cold. Roman pinches the exposed skin and Jason hisses.

"What? If you're going to misbehave you better be ready to handle the punishment, sweetheart."

"I think I'm going to have to make a complaint to the HR department," Jason grunts and tries again to push himself off Roman's lap. He should have seen it coming. He should have expected a bastard like Roman to play dirty, letting go of the hold on his back to wrap a hand around his neck and squeeze. And oh, _ohhhh_. 

" _Ah, ah_."

Jason goes limp, nothing more than a loose doll in the hand of--at least in Roman's case--a particularly careless child. The idea that omegas, or any _human_ for that matter, had a spot on the back of their neck that turned them boneless, driven by nothing more than submissive instinct with the brush of a hand was something Jason had always assumed was a lie. He himself had been the target of curious children for days to see if what their teacher told them about omegan scruffing were true. After a week of pinching fingers and nothing more than a pained initial flinch--before Jason countered with a fist to their noses--later, their teacher, in an effort to stop the bruises from appearing on Jason's neck, told them that an omega would have to be compatible with the one initiating the contact to trigger the response. Which, of course, opened up a whole can of worms that _Black Mask_ was able to make him feel anything beyond profound suspicion. Un- _fucking_ -believable.

" _That's it, kitten, that's it_."

Their first--and that says something about Jason--punishment session lasts barely longer than a few minutes. By the end of it, Jason's ass is a bright and tender pink with him drooling helplessly onto Roman's thigh. He doesn't know how many times Roman spanked him, only that his skin was feverish and tingled when Roman rubbed a gloved hand down it. Tears leak from the corners of his eyes and he pants wetly. Caught floating in some sort of daze as Roman dips the hand deeper, skimming a finger over the puckered skin of his hole.

Jason wants to jerk out of his lap. Wants to break Roman's fingers for the humiliation of being dragged across his lap and spanked like some naughty child. He doesn't do either. Near liquid in Roman's lap, head full of confused and lusty fog, he only manages a protesting keen.

"Shh," Roman slides his hand lower, the tip of his finger brushing against the folds of his cunt and pulls them back glistening wet. Jason sucks in a sharp breath at the sight, cheeks stinging hotly in shame at the betrayal of his own body and the dawning horror muffled by the overwhelming tide of arousal. He was enjoying this.

Okay, Jason thinks absentmindedly gripping then relaxing his hands as the clench at Roman's leg, _I've been in worse situations_. Maybe it's the lack of a good fuck in years. Yeah, that's got to be it. Dick's certainly talked about popping boners under strange circumstances. It's got nothing to do with Black Mask holding him down like some sort of 1950's ad.

_Yeah, like that one._

"Not much of a punishment. You like this don’t you, baby,” Roman wipes the slick off on Jason's cheek. "I'll have to think of something better for next time."

Jason's mouth is full of cotton, but he still manages to force out a coherent sentence. "What makes you think, ha- _aaah_ , there...there'll be a next time?"

"Believe me, Jason, with the way you behave there will be plenty of next times."

 _But next time I won't let you catch me off guard_. 

That ends up not being true. The second time--which isn't a punishment but sparks the event that leads to the next session--Jason winds up forced to his knees in the elevator up to Roman's penthouse while the man digs slow, methodical circles into the back of Jason's neck on that damned spot. He's left in a haze of calm, soothing headspace, barely away of Roman cooing above him.

"You're so good like this, sweet pea."

Roman leaves him there, blissed out and dead to the world. It takes him nearly three minutes to come back to his senses. By that time a few of the men on the way down have crowded around him. He "wakes up" to one of them tracing his lower lip with their thumb.

He breaks that thumb and then, when the men fight back, nearly takes their cocks as well. That same night Roman calls him back into the penthouse and belittles him before holding Jason down and whipping him with his belt.

It's only now that Jason realizes the arrangement that followed was Roman’s plan the entire time. After all, you can’t see the walls of a glass cage until you try to leave it.

\--

It's only after the third time, or fourth time, that Jason finally admits to himself that Roman's "punishments" are always at the expense of his sex. The rest of the men are either killed--which would make it difficult to continue the investigation--or are forced to feed a part of themselves--normally fingers, toes or ears--to Roman's dogs. Jason, in turn, for the third time--a punishment that Jason doesn't even remember earning--is lectured in front of everyone and then made to lick Roman's boots.

The men hate him. If it weren't for his deeds before he joined them or for his omega status they do now. Envious of their boss's favoritism. 

"The only reason Mask ain't cutting Hood up like the rest of us is 'cause the boss likes his sluts pretty."

"Red Hood is hardly pretty now, he could stand to lose a few fingers. All an omega really needs is a mouth and cunt."

"Maybe the boss likes to watch him play with himself, he'll need his hands for that."

Jason grew up with ruder talk from the men Talia assigned to tutor him. One never learned his name. Only called him "breeder." Talia was a beta woman. Noble and calm and beautiful who deserved respect. She didn't have heats to drive the men around her to ruin, but Jason _did_. With his delicious scent and the slight curve of his waist. Prejudice, Jason learned, came in all kinds of treatment which is why he knew that Roman's sweet praise and pet names were as dangerous as the hateful words the men spit at him when he walked by.

When the dynamic between Roman and Jason changes he curses himself for forgetting that very basic lesson.

"Hey," is how it starts.

The man is drunk. So are the rest of his friends. Pleased with the arrival of automatic rifles, the latest shipment from Qurac without Batman's notice. Unluckily for all of them Jason had taken a detour after checking on the weapons cache to leave Bruce the location in their assigned dead drop. Within a few days, he'll have alerted Gordon and they'll be locked up in the weapons vault beneath the GCPD. Now, happy with their victory and Roman's approval to take the night off for good work, they're blocking Jason's way up to the stairs to his room.

Jason ignores the man, nearly as tall and big as Bruce in gear, and tries to slide around him. Mistake one. The man sticks his hand against the wall as Jason tries to walk by. "Wait, wait, hun, where are you going so fast?" 

Shame he took off his helmet so soon after the mission. Would have spared his nose the stink of whiskey and garlic on the guy's breath.

"Get out of my way."

"Hey, hey," he slurs and rests his other hand on the wall beside Jason's head. "Darlin' there's no need to be so rude."

The reason Jason doesn't lay him flat immediately is that the camera that Roman watches from the safety of his fancy room eyes him across the garage. He frowns at the camera, waiting for Roman's voice to crackle through the intercom and call his man off. It doesn't happen, not that Jason expects Roman to ever come to his rescue. He's just waiting for another opportunity for Jason to slip up.

As if Jason is going to give it to him. Two can play this game.

Jason lowers his head, sinking back against the wall and uses the small height advantage the man has on him to look up at him through dark lashes. He may not be as pretty as Dick or Tim, but even the most hideous omega in the world could score an alpha or beta man. Jason, despite his insecurities--which were many--knew he was considerably more attractive when he was meek.

"I need to go to my room," he says in a softer voice. The man is smitten instantly. The hard lines of his face melting away and he leans in.

"Why not stay down here a little longer with us?" He asks and nuzzles Jason's neck, mouthing a disgustingly wet kiss against his skin. Jason turns his head to the side, grimacing but the beta takes it as an invitation to plant more kisses and bites up his throat.

_Five._

Jason drops his mouth open slightly as the man bites down. He's too drunk and too far away from Jason's sensitive scent gland for it to be pleasurable, but one didn't live with Dick "Lover of the Limelight" Grayson without picking up a few bad habits. The fake moan he lets out is utterly pornographic. His partner doesn't seem to care.

_Four._

A hand drops from the wall and settles on his waist.

 _Three_. 

The hand slides up, thumb leading the charge before it cups the bottom of his chest like they would a breast and squeezes. 

_Two_.

"You've always had such nice tits, sweetheart," the man says and digs his thumb down so hard Jason feels it through the kevlar. "Bet you have the prettiest tits out of all the boss' exes."

 _One_.

"Jason, come to my office. Now," the intercom barks out. Jason grins and shoves the man away from him, too distracted by the alcohol and Jason's scent to stop him.

"Sorry, handsome, duty calls."

Jason jogs the short few feet to the elevator, heart fluttering in his chest. _Roman, you are predictable._

Roman is waiting for him behind his desk in the living area of the penthouse, desktop computer most likely displaying the grainy footage from the garage still or the elevator. Jason watches Roman with a bemused smile holding out his arms. 

"You called, boss?" _I didn't do anything try and pin something on me._

Roman's glower makes Jason feel hot beneath his armor. The slight niggling in the back of his head of shame catches him off guard. Shame for what, that he finally played into the stereotype that Roman and his men constantly accused omegas of? That he wasn't above parting his legs, even without the intent to do anything, just to get an advantage. Before using that trick was something Jason recognized as something he needed in his arsenal to survive. Now, however, he feels no better than the brainless cliché Roman's teased him for.

Jason bottles it up and sticks it away. _Who cares what Roman thinks? Who fucking cared what Roman Sionis thought anyway._

Roman must wait for the internal conflict to begin because right when the voices, deep and dark in the back of his mind come out he speaks. "Strip."

Jason balks. "Excuse me?" 

"Shut the fuck up," Roman demands and his voice is low, like really low. 

Jason's never dealt with an actual example of an "alpha voice." Once a few of the alpha boys at Gotham Academy had spent an afternoon screaming at each other. The two of them had been fighting over the affections of another student who was oblivious to either. They had been so violent and vicious in their intent to get the other to back down one of them had growled so darkly it scared the other so much he'd fallen to his knees whimpering on the floor. The rest of the kids who gathered around to watch the fight shrank back and scurried away. Jason remained. Indifferent. Unaffected by the student's inappropriate use of his "alpha voice" and laughed when both of the boys were rejected by the girl they had been fighting over.

Bruce mimicked the alpha voice, how Jason to this day doesn't know by all means his throat shouldn't be able to do it, and most of the Robins--save for unruly Jason--submitted like it was completely natural. Ra's once tried to use it on him while he was still half-dead to the world from brain trauma and even then, at his most defenseless, when he was nothing but a walking doll ruled only by instinct Jason did nothing.

Roman continues to be a series of firsts. The command clenches at the back of his mind with phantom fingers seeming to dig into the skin above his neck. It's as if he's getting scruffed again, fight leaving his body as easy as a whoosh of air.

And Jason, light-headed and vulnerable from the order, does. Quickly and efficiently he slips off his gear leaving it in a pile around him almost half-awake. He stands there for Roman to assess, rigid and straight, cheeks a furious red. His heart pounds loudly in his chest when Roman finally stands up. He circles Jason slowly, hands behind his back and eyes raking him carefully up and down.

He stops in front of Jason and grabs his cock with a too-tight hand. Jason sinks his teeth into his tongue to keep the gasp from leaving his mouth. Roman looks over his cock, bored, running a finger up and down the length lazily.

"I'd heard male omega cocks were small and unremarkable," Roman says and drops Jason's dick with visible disinterest. "Didn't think it was true till now. Or," Roman gives him a little smirk, "maybe that's only true for you."

"Says the man who won't even show me his own cock. Cold feet? Or is it so small-" Roman backhands Jason, hard enough that he falls. Roman wraps an arm around Jason's waist, keeping him tilted back and off balance. A domineering shadow of black and white. Dizzy with the powerful scent of gun smoke looming over him. 

"Roman-" Jason clings to Roman's jacket to keep his balance. 

"Shh, pumpkin, daddy's talking," Roman reaches down with a free hand and pushes a dry finger up into his already damp and waiting heat. Jason's head falls forward, mouthing opening in a light "o" as he digs his nails into Roman's jacket.

"Roman," Jason says again, louder. The finger crooks inside him, uncomfortable but not exactly unwanted. A low, pleading whine slips past his lips as the finger moves methodically back and forth, never once coming all the way out. " _Roman_."

The wet sounds of slick dripping out of his cunt, down Roman's hand, fills the silence of the penthouse. Jason flushes hot all over. The only thing that's ever embarrassed him about his body was those damned noises. That and the sheer amount his body seemed capable of producing. He hardly ever had to buy lube his body supplied buckets full of it. God. See, see, that's just his normal body. Has nothing to do with Roman. Producing slick was as natural to his body as pumping blood-

Another finger pushes inside, tight but nothing Jason couldn't handle. He breathes through his nose carefully and tries again to stand up. Roman pushes him further back and spreads the fingers inside him wide. _Oh god_.

"When I was younger," Roman says, ignoring the rough breaths he draws from Jason's lips. "There was this girl, daughter of a lieutenant in the Camorra named Tiffany Ambrose. Blonde-hair, great ass, sweet cunt," Roman pushes in another finger. Jason chokes, feet sliding across the floor as he tries to get proper footing. Desperate to get away. Clear his head. Roman twists his fingers. "Not real smart, but she could do things with her mouth those whores in the East End wish they could. She was clever where it counted."

Jason pants heavily. He can hear the wet sounds of Roman's fingers diving in and out of his cunt. The fourth slips in almost without his notice but his cock, now flushed red and dripping against his stomach, does. Sweat beads on his brow and drips into his eye. The sting is nothing compared to the tight ache inside. 

The sweet and delicious friction of Roman's fingers curling in him. " _R-Roman_."

"Do you know there isn't that big of a difference between male and female omegas?" Roman slows his hand and rocks it, deep and purposeful, grinding the pad of his thumb down against the stretched skin around his fingers. Then, amazingly, _impossibly_ , pushes in his thumb. "You'd think that'd be true in the case of those rare-born female alphas, but, they don't have that tight pussy you omegas do." Roman twists his fingers around and presses down. 

Jason gives a full body twitch, clenching down so tight on Roman's fingers he thinks he's been knotted. His body goes limp after a moment. Heat spreading to the very tips of his toes, curling them against the marble floor.

" _Daddy_ ," Jason whines, half-delirious with pleasure and pain. "O-Oh god." 

"That's it kitten. You got it." Roman flexes his knuckles and rocks forward. Jason swears colorfully in English and what must be a mixture of German and Arabic. It's nearly unbearable how full and stuffed he is. Helpless as Roman continues to hold him and fuck him with his fist. Shit maybe alpha strength was a thing because Jason certainly wasn't dainty and Roman was trapping him there, uncomfortably full and oddly angled.

His cock didn't mind, drooling out pearls of precum onto the crests of his stomach. Roman watches with a quirked brow and tugs his hand back, catching on the tight ring of muscle in his pussy.

Jason howls.

"The thing about male omegas like you Jason," Roman continues. "Is that you're nothing more than a bitch with an oversized clit."

Roman stands him up, ignoring Jason's feeble whining. He carefully starts to pull his hand free. Jason whimpers so pathetically and clenches down hard enough it _hurts_ to keep Roman inside.

"You don't even deserve the title of man," Roman laughs. "You want to come, honey?"

"G-God, _yes_ ," Jason cries, indifferent to Roman's insult. The sole need to finish overtaking every synapse in his brain.

"Do it yourself."

And Jason does. Placing his hands on Roman's shoulders to balance he fucks himself down, fast and raw on Roman's fist. He doesn't even reach for his cock, bouncing against his stomach. He comes riding a crest of pleasure that overwhelms him with a sharp slap of pain. Only capable of emitting a pitiful, voiceless wheeze. Roman uncurls his hand and slides it free with a wet pop.

Jason goes boneless. Roman huffs and wraps an arm around him, dragging him back, deeper into the penthouse. Roman's bed is a dream beneath him. He practically melts into the sheets, so much like Bruce's ridiculous high-thread count monstrosities. A handkerchief, silky and soft, rubs across the mess on his chest and between his thighs.

"Figures you'd make me clean up after you. That's all I seem to be doing isn't it?"

"Shut the fuck up," Jason mumbles. Roman pinches at the sensitive skin of his inner thigh. " _Asshole_."

"Next time don't try and mess around with my men. You're mine, understand?" 

"Possessive," Jason sighs. Something warm tingles in the back of his head. He pushes it down and decides to think about it when he's more coherent and less fucked-out. 

"We're going to have to do something about these tits, sweetheart," Roman rests a slick hand on his chest. A thumb circles his pink nipple. "I don't need my men getting distracted."

"Can't help it," Jason rolls over and sinks his head into the bed. Hell, he deserves a rest after that. Roman doesn't kick him out.

The next morning he wakes up to a lacy white bra and panties left beside his nightstand. They're near sheer with flowery embroidery and so incredibly feminine that Selina would have probably called them "too-girly."

Jason's nearly succeeds convincing himself he wears them only to play the part.

\--

It happens slowly. 

It's why Jason doesn't see it, a frog in a boiling pot of water. It's so obvious, looking back now all the signs Jason missed, blaring red like traffic lights. Blinded by Jason's own aloofness, refusing to think too hard about how his time in Roman's company.

The last day of Jason's mission Mannheim comes to Gotham to hand deliver Roman his cut for acting as a fence during the weapon trade. Bruno “Ugly” Mannheim certainly lives up to the nickname. Square-jawed, deep-set eyes and the jagged lines around the corners of his mouth. Roman, with his mutilated face, is almost attractive in comparison. Mannheim’s also as Gotham-city scum as you can be without being born in its gutters and it warms Jason’s black heart that even a city as pristine and picture-perfect as Metropolis has filth like Mannheim sniffing around. But that also means he takes one look at Jason and whistles long and low.

“Have to show off your latest bitch don’t you, Roman? He’s a little bigger than normal though.”

Jason nods to himself. _Yeah, classic alpha bastard coming right up._

“Keep your opinions to yourself, Bruno.” 

Mannheim comes with a handful of his own personal guards. All just as big and mean as their boss. Roman, not to be outdone on his own turf, brings his own men that could rival even Bane in size and stature. If Jason hadn’t woken up that morning out of sorts and on the edge of what’s probably a cold, he’d be making jabs about the obvious alpha pissing contest between the two of them.

As it stands Jason’s thick-headed and congested with a slight chill and all he wants to do is go home, finally free of Roman’s scent. If Mannheim hadn’t decided to drop in Jason would have slipped out and debriefed with Bruce before not-so-subtly leaving his letter of resignation at Roman’s door. Preferably with a knife in his cock rather than his back.

Jason edges closer to Roman, watching Mannheim’s steroid abominations carefully. It’s like the two of them held casting calls for men over 6’5 and 270 pounds that stank of alpha. Jason makes it a point to reach up to his helmet and click on the filtration system. Nope, sorry, not dealing with this today.Mannheim and Roman shoot the shit for ages.

It’s boring. Mannheim talks about the girls he’s fucking in Metropolis, about a new gang called the K.M gang (The Killer Moths, harmless and Jason’s already brought Walker in on Hood’s payroll) he’s thinking about dealing with, and the latest moves of the JLA. Roman listens, doesn’t say much unless it’s to deliver an underhanded jab about Mannheim’s intelligence—which isn’t high.

The guards, on the other hand, have entertainment. They have Jason. Each of them, once they’re sure Roman or Mannheim isn’t about to blow the other’s head off, start to leer at him. None of them speak, but their eyes say enough. Hungry filled with dark-intent, the kind looks unsuspecting women and smaller men get in bars. Unaware of the danger waiting patiently for a chance to strike. In a room full of stinking alphas and pumped-up beta men, Jason’s no better than a supermodel in a sexy piece of lingerie.

Jason’s glad none of them are Superman or else they’d see how true that last part is. _Fucking Roman._

Stereotypical shitty behavior, Jason’s dealt with it, doesn’t pay attention with the light headache he’s had since morning. It’s probably why he misses the twitch in the jaw of Mannheim’s biggest guy, the alpha with the crooked nose, or the way he’s been scenting the air since he first spotted Jason. He should have been watching, should have paid more attention. If so he would have been prepared for when the crooked nose alpha suddenly launched himself over the table. Not at Roman, but _Jason._

The attack startles him enough that the guard takes him to the ground, a heavy, stinking weight above him. Jason jabs him in the throat instantly. The man chokes grabs at his throat only to be ripped off Jason by another snarling alpha. 

The meeting falls into chaos. The five alpha guards, three are Mannheim’s and two Roman’s, fall onto each other in a frenzy of vicious, uncoordinated teeth while the remaining betas circle them. Unprepared and unwilling to enter such a frightening display of violence. Jason picks himself up and reaches for a gun get them to cut it out.

“ _Enough_.”

Jason whole body gives a jolt. He nearly drops to his knees at the sound of that damned tone, Roman’s commanding voice, calling out to the alphas. Calm, collected and, most importantly, _in control_.

The alphas freeze. One even holds another’s neck in his pointed teeth. The hairs on the back of Jason’s neck raise as the guards slowly untangle themselves from each other to form a neat and solid line.

Mannheim, for as pompous and as loud as he was earlier, even sits up a little straighter.

Shit. _Shit_. 

Jason whines. It’s not an ordinary whine either. One that could be brushed off as pain or a wheeze, embarrassing but explainable. This isn’t. It’s an omega whine. High-pitched. Desperate. Meant to beckon even the most aggressive alpha to his aid. It’s instinctual and Jason goes cold underneath his heavy armor and jacket as the entire room turns away from Roman to stare at him. The one with the crooked nose and black eye glares at him, opening his mouth and presses his tongue to the roof. _Tasting his scent_.

Roman sighs beside him.

“Jason,” Roman stands up and straightens out his cuffs. “Get on your knees.”

Jason’s a little out of sorts, but not enough to protest Roman’s demand. “Excuse me?”

“ _Now_.”

Jason drops. It’s instinctive. An immediate urge to comply with the demands of his alpha— _but Roman’s not_. The meeting's already gone to hell and a half, better for Jason suck in his pride and just fall into the role he’s been playing with Roman since the start. The sooner they finish the sooner Jason leaves and can wipe the last months from the recesses of his mind.

Roman walks beside him, glancing down at Jason, impassive beneath the stoic face of his mask. A gloved hand comes down on the back of Jason’s neck and pushes. Jason goes rigid.

“Roman,” Jason starts but he only presses harder.

“You want to make this a scene, honey?” Roman pinches the skin on the back of his neck and Jason shudders out a breath. Goddamn, that bundle of nerves. Damn evolution. He goes. Ducking his head until Roman all but forces cheek of his mask to lie on the floor. " _Stay._ "

And what's Jason to do but comply? Counts his blessings. At least the helmet prevents the remaining alphas and betas from seeing the blush burning on his cheeks. He can feel their eyes sharp on the curve of his back and ass--especially his ass. Plants his hands on the ground next to his face and closes his eyes, breathing in deep calming breathes through his nose.

"Should've expected you to bring your pet around when he's that way. Did you think you'd be able to get more money out of me?" Mannheim says. Jason wishes he'd shut his mouth.

"I didn't think anything," Roman stands up and goes back to the table. It's wrong, why is he leaving? "Quiet Jason."

Oh, that frantic wheeze of air was from him. Shit, what the fuck is wrong with him? Jason's never been so utterly... _distressed_ before. Hell, his heats tended to make him more aggressive. Having more in common with an alpha rut than the pleading subservience of an omegan heat.

"I'd appreciate it if we wrapped this up fast, Bruno. You have your guns, I want my money."

"Yeah, yeah, shit thanks for giving me three hyped up guys by the way. Now I'll have to find a house that doesn't mind their goods getting knotted."

Roman huffs. "I've got a few girls of my own that can handle it. Consider it a favor. Now get out of my sight. I obviously have something more important to take care of. "

\--

 

Roman doesn't even look up from his phone when he gives the command in the elevator. "Strip then get on the bed, but leave your underwear on."

Jason rolls his eyes and unzips his jacket the moment the door opens. "You're in a foul mood."

"I'm thinking, Jason, something you don't seem to be doing a lot of."

 _And they say omegas are the moody ones_. Jason shrugs out of his jacket and toes off his boots, leaving them in the entryway. He loses most of his armor in pieces. Littering it on the floor until he's in nothing but his shirt and combat pants when finally collapses onto the bed. He feels better, way better than he did in the conference with Mannheim. Little aches in his head and along with his hips, but the chill is mostly gone. 

He's resolved to put the situation with Mannheim in the back of his mind. Most of those men will, hopefully, be locked away in Blackgate or Stryker's by the end of the day. No one will know about the Red Hood on his hands and knees and he'll make sure to scare those that try to spread that information around.

Jason rolls onto his back and lightly pushes up the bottom of his shirt just far enough that the white lace of that frilly bra is just visible. Roman hadn't told him to stop wearing them so Jason wore them. Or whatever variation he woke up in his room the next morning. God, he was so fucked up.

Roman comes back into the room after several minutes. His mask is gone. Jason's pulled off and thrown his pants and shirt onto the floor, palming his cock beneath his boxers--as if he'd wear those uncomfortable panties more than once. Roman snorts and smacks Jason's hand away when he gets close enough.

"Did I tell you, you could jerk yourself off in my bed?"

"Considering you never bring me up here for anything besides that, I'd say that was a pretty decent guess," Jason tilts his head, a small smirk on his lips. He reaches down and dips his thumb beneath the hem of his boxers, pulling them down just far enough to show the dark curls framing his cock. 

There's something in the back of his mind that's startled. He's never been so blatantly...coy with Roman before. He's probably falling too far into the role Roman's cast him as. A cocky, needy omega. Jason never was that good of an actor. That was Dick's job, and who cared if Jason liked a bit of what Roman did to him? Sue him. The rest of the family was hardly a beacon of purity when it came to things like this.

Roman kneels down on the bed beside him, taking Jason's hand away from his cock again, gently this time, kneading his thumb down against the veins in his wrists. Jason let his head fall back against the pillows, sighing softly. Shit that felt good. _Really good_.

He closes his eyes, a low purr building in the back of his throat.

"Jason," Roman's voice was a nice low rumble. "Raise your arms up for me."

Jason does and Roman laughs. "Good boy."

 _Yeah_ , Jason thought with another light sigh, _yeah I am a good boy._

Something cool wraps around his wrist and clicks behind his head. Then it repeats on his left wrist. Jason tugs at his wrists to get a look at the object on them. They don't move. Jason opens one eye slightly. Handcuffs.

"I thought we were beyond this," Jason pulls at the cuffs. 

“This is for your own safety, Jason. Can’t have an omega in heat running around, trying to fuck everything that moves.”

Jason snorts and closes his eye again. "I might not get the dates of your shipments right, but I know when my heat is. Kind of becomes second nature when you have it every few months when you turn twelve." Then he adds after a minute. "Nice slut-shaming by the way. I think I'll write that in my diary."

"Oh?" Roman asks, bemusement evident in his voice. "Then what happened with Mannheim's men was just a coincidence?" 

"There are better things you should be doing with your mouth." Jason opens his eyes, catches Roman's dark gaze and flicks them down to his crotch. Heat pools in the bottom of his stomach and he can feel himself getting wetter. It's become a Pavlov-dog response to Roman's room. He really shouldn't feel this way, restrained in _Black Mask's_ territory but let the good times roll right?

"Hm," Roman stands. Opens the drawer to his nightstand and pulls out a small, gold chain with two vicious looking clamps on either end. Roman drops the chain down on Jason’s bare stomach. It’s a flimsy delicate thing and Jason instant recognizes the shapes at the end to be nipple clamps. "The last man that talked like that to me lost his tongue."

"But I'm not the last man am I?" Jason spreads his thighs a wider. Red eyes glance down and Jason smirks. 

"Impatient," Roman tugs off his gloves. Sets them down on the nightstand and runs a warm finger along the strap of the bra. "I didn't think you'd actually wear this."

"You told me to," Jason's sigh turns into a gasp as Roman snaps the strap. 

"I see you're capable of listening when it's something you want. But most omegas are like that," Roman unhooks the front clasp of the bra and pushes the lace aside. Both hands come up and his chest, kneading the tender skin. Never been that big of a fan of having his tits played with but Roman, of course, is experienced. Thumbs circle around the dark circles, flicking the hardening nub back and forth. 

"Not an omega cliché Roman." Jason bites his lip. Rocks his hips up, getting whatever friction he can by jostling his twitching cock against his boxers. Nearly dizzy with arousal, he forgets the last time he's been so turned on. Roman pinches one of his nipples, hard. " _Shit_."

"Could have fooled me. You were already on your back before I told you to lie down. Most of my exes sat up straight and waited for me to tell them what to do." Roman pulls his hands away and Jason whines. "Let the alpha decide like it should be."

"Terrible life advice," Jason pants and bucks his hips again. "Either stick your fingers in me or send me to my room. You talk too much."

Roman glares at him. "I should take you over my knee again. See how much that smart mouth can run when you're bleeding from my belt."

"Like that went so well last time." Jason shudders. Spanking was another one of his hidden kinks. Color him surprised. Bruce was probably to blame for that. A groan slips out as his thoughts turn to Bruce and then because he's obviously a depraved human being, Batman. Bending him over the Batmobile like he did once when Jason was young and rude and just wanted to be noticed. _Hello, Cosmopolitan? Yes, I have some fantasies to share for all the omegas out there with daddy issues-_

Roman slaps his thigh. "Normally, it's the embarrassment rather than pain that teaches the lesson in spanking. The humiliation of being treated like a child."

"Not to take away from your speech, but a lot of people dig spanking. Isn't it the most vanilla kink now? To be honest, Roman, I expected something a lot worse- _FUCK_."

The clamp that bites down on his nipple hurts. A lot more painful than they look or maybe Jason's too sensitive. It's brother--or sister, whatever inanimate object--pinches his other a second later. Then Roman takes the chain and pulls it up. High enough that the clamps tug painfully and Jason arches up to lessen the sting.

" _A-ah_ , ah, ah, okay, okay," Jason whines. "Shutting up now."

"Really?" Roman grins, feral. "I've only just started."

"You made your point, go easy on my tits you asshole." Roman slackens his grip just enough for Jason to lie back on the bed. " _God_."

Roman, as merciful as a total sadist can be, leans down. The chain pulls taut and it's uncomfortable as hell. Not painful yet. His boxers come off with a tug of Roman's free hand. Jason shakes his feet to kick them off the rest of the way and spreads his thighs. Cock landing heavy and drooling on his stomach.

"This is a good look for you, sweet pea,” Roman says. “On your back at my mercy."

"I bet you say that to all the pretty girls."

"I do," Roman runs his fingers through the slick practically flooding out of his cunt. Parts the lips of his pussy and presses a finger in. Torturously slow. "But I like you here the most. Always had a soft spot for brats who have to be shown their place."

"Sound more like an evil villain why don't you." Jason rocks his hips down against Roman's finger.

"Does that make you the damsel in distress?" Roman pulls harder on the chain. A whimper falls from Jason's lips. "Who's the alpha hero coming to rescue you?"

"Don't need, _ohhh_ ," Roman pushes in another finger, "a-an alpha to rescue me."

"Why not? You look in distress to me."

"Good thing my daddy's here to help me," Jason smiles, lopsided. A third finger, too early, still too tight, pushes into his cunt. Stuttering mewls and whine fall from his open, wet mouth. The chains of the handcuffs clank against the steel bed frame, cutting into his wrists. " _Fuck, Roman_."

"You're certainly something, pumpkin. Almost makes me want to forgive you for the stunt you're trying to pull." Roman presses up with his fingers and Jason's cock twitches against his stomach. 

"I-I don't know if you noticed but I can't pull any stunts right now. Unless you're talking about me trying to get off faster then you're right, Mr. Smarty-Pants."

"I'm talking about forcing me to act as your _mate_ in front of Bruno and his men. I didn't think you were one of those sluts that dress up in leather for attention but you certainly had those alphas competing for yours. If I hadn't stepped in as your guardian they'd probably taken you on the table while Bruno and I talked.”

Roman pushes his finger in up to the knuckle. The warmth that shoots through him does little to dim the icy fist that clenches around his heart. 

“I-Fuck you for suggesting that I’m not-“ _I’m not trying to get you to be my mate._

“Relax, princess,” Roman wraps the chain around his finger. Tighter and tighter until it’s pulling the nubs of Jason’s tender nipples. “I know you’re not _really_ a slut. During your heat you can hardly be blamed opening your legs up for the closest alpha that wanders by. Especially when your chosen alpha isn’t giving you attention.” 

“Fuck you,” Jason snarls. “Just because your lizard brain is mixing up signals doesn’t mean mine is.”

Roman slides his fingers from Jason’s cunt. Aching and empty Jason clenches down reflexively to keep them in. A frustrated growl rumbles out of his throat while Roman grabs his hair and yanks. Jason’s body arches up, desperate to relieve the pressure. “Didn’t realize the school system failed you so bad, honey, then again with your brains you were probably a dropout. Can’t blame you for trying to sneak a heat in with me either. Who wouldn’t want to have one with a _real_ alpha..”

Jason tenses. He still has a few weeks left before his heat there’s no way in hell he’d be going into early. That stuff didn’t just happen out of nowhere. There was nothing that could suddenly induce it out of nowhere unless it was-

He pales.

Sudden onset heat syndrome was an exceedingly rare condition. Barely recorded, only happened during periods of great displacement when alphas were far and in between like war. When viable alphas could be whisked away at any second. Tended to happen after a quick courtship where a compatible alpha proved their worth to a possible omega partner. Inducing their heat a few weeks before their average cycle in an attempt to keep alpha interest. As if Roman could be bothered to _court_ Jason he’d spent the last week-. . .the last _month_ …

Roman’s spent the last month playing off every archaic alpha stereotype there was. He showed Jason his vast wealth on top of the tower, successfully forced him to submit by scruffing, protected him from a room full of alphas. Declared his _interest_ and dominance over Jason in the most ancient and simple way in a room full of eligible bachelors. A way that only _mates_ do.

Jason’s body had bought it hook, line, and sinker. 

“You fucking son of a bitch,” Jason spits, so angry he could feel his teeth shuddering as he bites down on nothing. The handcuffs rattle against the headboard from his straining. “You better hope these hold or I’ll break your fucking neck.”

“Easy, Jason, I don’t know what you’re blaming me for. It’s in your nature.”

“You fucking forced me to-“ Roman backhands him so hard his neck cracks. Warm copper blossoms on his tongue. He bit right through his lips.

“Did I mess with your suppressants?” Roman asks. Cool and collected. Jason’s never hated anyone more. “You don’t take any. Don’t accuse me of things I could care less to do. Your body’s just responding to a natural incentive, an alpha it wants to secure the affections of. Hardly a surprise considering how much attention I’ve been lavishing on you in contrast to the good men who work for me. And they didn’t need to be bribed with the promise of sexual favors to do it.”

Jason snarls. “Bastard. You think I liked doing any of those things for you?” 

“Yes,” Roman says simply. “I expected a fight every time I commanded you. Imagine my surprise when I received obedience. You were a brat about it, of course, but you went along with it. Every. Single. Time.”

Roman idly strokes a hand along Jason’s neck, pinching the skin above the scent glands. “I may not have much of a nose but taste,” Roman drags a finger through the blood and lifts it to his own mouth. His tongue is light pink. A sharp contrast to the mutilated skin of his face. “Taste is something I know very, very well.”

The hand holding the chain yanks back. It doesn’t stop until the clamps rip free and Jason shouts. Tears prick at the corner of his eyes. Nipples puffy and pink from the clamps. His chest has always been exceptionally tender during his heat. His heat. It’s so goddamn obvious now. Jason grits his teeth and breaths deeply through his nose. Ok. Ok. He can figure this out. One step at a time. 

So long as Roman doesn’t try to bite him.

“Do you know there’s a subtle difference between omega scents depending on whether or they’re on suppressants?” Roman moves away from Jason and off the bed. He takes off his belt, tosses it away and unzips his pants far enough to pull his cock out. It’s not bad as far as alpha cocks go. Thick at the base and long which makes Jason hate it more.“Aside from muting an omega’s natural scent it also leaves a faint chemical smell. The sterile scent of a hospital room is the most common description of it.”

Roman digs around in the nightstand again and takes out a bottle of lube. Sits back on the bed, running a hand up the inside of Jason’s thighs and pushes them further apart. Pops off the cap and spreads a decent amount on the length of his prick.

“I don’t need a fucking biology lesson,” Jason pulls hard at the cuffs but Roman’s damned steel bed frame holds. “If you’re going to fuck me just do it.”

Roman’s eyes narrow and he pushes the tip of his cock into Jason’s aching cunt. When it’s too tight to go any further Roman grabs Jason’s hips and shoves in further. Jason’s howl morphs into a growl. He’s got to relax or else it will hurt more. But he doesn’t want Roman inside of him, heat be damned. 

“Tiffany,” Roman continues regardless, “was with me before and after the accident that ruined my face and nose. I thought I’d never to experience her scent again, sweet as it was. But when one sense goes another takes its place. She certainly tasted as nice as I remembered.”

“Gross,” Jason rolls his thumb around in the cuffs. He’s never had to dislocate his thumb using the same hand before. But there’s a first for everything. Like having your heat induced because your body thought a psychopathic weapons-trader was giving it _feelings_. 

Stubborn not be ignored Roman rolls his hips and slides almost completely inside. Jason’s cock, unaware of the horror going on in Jason’s mind, gets wetter. Roman grins and, for the first time in a long while, takes Jason’s prick in his hand. Strokes him slowly, up and down. Teasing, almost playful, toying with the slit. 

“ _Ah_ ,” Jason whines. Bucks his hips up into Roman’s hand and sighs as his needy body finally takes the entire length of Roman’s cock. The rush of endorphins would take Jason off his feet if he weren’t on his back. Pleasure, obscenely delightful, sinks into his limbs making them heavy and loose.“Fuckkk-ahh.”

The other hand comes up to rest against the hollow of Jason’s throat.

“Omegan bodies are so fucking delicate aren’t they, baby? Her’s changed all the time.”Roman thrusts languidly. In. Pause. Out. Pause. Over and over, deep and purposeful. Jason whines, needy. Relief, like water in scorching heat, washes over him in waves. The most basic biological urge met. It leaves his head foggy and body helpless, vulnerable underneath Roman.

Somewhere in the back of his heat-filled mind, a voice screams at him. It’s desperate, crying out for the attention of his rational mind. _Danger. You’re in danger._

“When she changed suppressants, when she was entering pre-heat and," Roman brushes his thumb over the crest of his throat. His eyes darken. "When she went off her birth control."

The hand around his throat descends. Vice-grip tight and needlessly cruel. Rather than stay in, the air in his lungs whooshes out as Roman grinds the palm of his hand down against the hollow of Jason's throat. Jason rears up, breathlessly snarling as he yanks at his wrists. Hard enough to rub raw, red lines into his skin.

"Do you think you're clever or I’m just that stupid? That you could just roll onto your back, spread those thighs of yours, show me your cunt and I wouldn't see what you were trying to do?” Roman squeezes Jason’s cock so hard for a terrifying second Jason believes he’s trying to tear it off.“Believe me, _honey_ , prettier, more obedient omegas have tried. What makes you think an over-sized bitch like you would succeed?" Roman wraps another hand around Jason's throat and presses down even harder. "Didn't think you’d stoop so low as to try and leash me like that. But when it comes down to it, it’s just in your nature to be a feeble-minded, knot-hungry slut, pumpkin.”

Roman releases his neck. Jason heaves in a deep breath, coughing and panting. His eyes burn and sting. Several tears drip down his face as he pants raggedly. A hand grips his hair and pulls it back, hard enough that Jason winces as a few strands are torn free.

"To be honest, Jason, I actually had a little respect for you. Even if you were an omega. Always thought you could have been more than just a wet and warm hole to fuck,” Roman presses deeper into Jason’s sore cunt. “If you had the right teacher. Never thought you'd fall back on such cheap tricks to get someone like me under your thumb." Roman leans down, the hideous rough skin of his fucked up face brushing against the shell of his ear. "Didn't think you'd go all the way to going into heat and off your birth control like the rest of them."

Jason turns his head, growling against the rough pull of his hair in Roman's grip and _bites_. If he thought Roman's cock tasted bad, from all the times Roman made him suck him under the table, the ruined skin of his neck is a thousand times worse.

Roman yells and if Jason weren't so worried about the immediate situation--i.e. handcuffed, in heat in a tower full of men who don't know the word no, Roman above him--he'd spit out some other insults just to belittle Roman. As it stands it does nothing to make his situation a thousand times worse. 

The fist that cracks across his face whites out his vision in a start of blinding pain. His senses return one after the other. The taste of iron on his tongue, the acidic stench of _pissed off alpha_ in his nose, terrifying sound of Roman snarling, the feeling of teeth pressing against his collarbone. The sight of Roman sinking his teeth down, through the skin so hard they catch the bone.

Jason’s wail turns into a howl and then into a scream. He screams and screams until his voice cracks and no sound comes out. Every atom of his body is thrust into a livid inferno of anger and pain. Razor-sharp it empties his mind of all thought except for the feeling of Roman’s teeth. He sobs. Sobs like a child, pitifully and just as helpless. Stretched out on Roman’s bed while the bastard fucks him right through it.

An eternity later Roman loosens his jaw and sits up. Regards Jason as if he were nothing more than a particularly annoying pest that just won’t die. Save for the dark pools of black lust surrounded by a ring of burning maroon.

“Well,” Roman says. He raises a hand and wipes the tears from Jason’s cheek tenderly. Jason flinches, hating that touch more than the bite. More than anything Roman’s done to him. “Since you were such a good boy following my orders with Bruno I guess I can reward you for that. I’ll give you my knot.”

Jason shakes his head, chest heaving. Roman can’t knot him. Not in his heat. He can’t-that could-

“N-No,” Jason forces out. Barely audible and dripping with raw agony. 

“It’s what you wanted isn’t it, sweet pea?” Roman accuses. Paranoid bastard. Jason shakes his head. Roman laughs. “Don’t lie to me honey, it’s what all you omegas want.”

Roman’s hips stutter in bucking little motions, pushing deeper. Jason tries to pull his hips back. Anything to get away from Roman and prevent him from knotting. Hands clamp down on his waist and pin him there. Powerless, defenseless under Roman’s assault. Resigns himself to it. He knows he can’t win. Has known it for a long time now.

He thinks about the rats in his professor’s class and squeezes his eyes shut.

“Aw, sweetheart, were you worried that I wouldn’t let you come?” Roman coos. Takes Jason’s still hard cock—because he’s nothing but a cock-hungry omega isn’t he?—and works him, quick and efficient, to a weak orgasm. 

Then Roman knots him.

It barely hurts. In contrast, it’s immensely satisfying, the delicious feeling of tightness in his twitching cunt. Raw and oversensitive from his finish, Roman manages to milk another one out of him. Leaving Jason a shivering, sobbing mess stuffed full and helpless on his knot. He makes a better omega stereotype than the ones in pornos. At least those were fake. This was real. Painfully and horrifyingly real. 

“Everything you hoped it would be, pumpkin?” Roman wipes a hand through the blood dripping out of the bite.

Jason doesn’t even fight the wave of sated exhaustion that follows the process of knotting. Welcomes it. There is nothing else Roman could do to him in his sleep beside kill him. And Roman wasn’t satisfied with just killing people in their dreams. Too easy. 

“No.”

Roman licks the blood from his fingers. “Good.”

—

Jason wakes up sore and alone still handcuffed to Roman’s bed. It’s almost too easy to dislocate his thumbs and slide them out of the cuffs. The way is slicked by the blood on his wrists.

He throws on his clothes, bandages himself up in Roman’s bathroom, pointedly ignoring the bite mark on his chest. His helmet is somewhere else in the tower. That’s fine, he has more. Zips up the leather jacket to hide the bat symbol on his chest. Then he leaves the tower from the window, grappling between the buildings despite the weakness in his limbs. 

Instead of landing gracefully he falls. Hitting the dirty concrete of a dark alleyway and lying there in a haze of pain and remnants of heat sickness—only temporarily sated from Roman’s fucking—in a puddle of gutter water. A homeless man sitting in the cardboard box for a table helps him up.

“That looked like it hurt,” then he scents Jason. His eyes widen. “You shouldn’t be out here like this. There are a lot of bad people. Where’s your mate?” 

“Dead,” Jason tears his arm free. “Mind your own business.” 

The man looks like he wants to say something else. He glances down to the purple bruises on Jason’s neck and his mouth flattens stonily. Notices his former warning was in vain. The worst has apparently already happened.

He steals the first motorcycle he comes across. He’ll return it once he’s done using it. The thought of walking all the way back to the safe house is unacceptable.

Jason drops by the pharmacy on the ride back. 

People stare at him. Drawn to the ring of black and blue on his neck and the gauntness of his eyes. One watches him in the back of the line to the counter, phone in hand until they think better of it. Good. Jason doesn’t want to make any more of a scene threatening them.

The pharmacist has to complicate things when he demands at least three boxes of emergency contraception.

“Perhaps you’d like to go into the backroom? One of our clinic’s doctors can treat your bruises while we fill your prescription.”

She looks at him with such _pity_. It makes Jason's gut twist in anger. 

“No,” he grits out. Firm as he can with what little voice he has left. “Just give me the damn pills.”

They give him the pills along with a flyer to an anonymous survivor group that meets Tuesdays and Thursday and the card to a domestic abuse crisis hotline that lists the location of several shelters in Gotham. One is sponsored by the Wayne Corporation. He crumples up the flier and throws both it and the card into the trash on the way out. 

When he gets home he swallows down the prescribed dose with a glass of water. Waits an hour. Gets anxious and takes another dose. Paces around the apartment, dusting the spotless shelves and vacuuming the floor once. Twice. Three times until his stomach is so upset he runs into the bathroom and spends ten minutes puking his guts out. A voice he hasn’t heard since he made his peace with Bruce and the rest of the family calls out to him.

_You deserved this._

He washes his mouth out with water and pulls off his sweaty t-shirt, catching the bloodied bite mark in the mirror. It makes his empty stomach lurch just looking at it.

Jason had been a fool trying to use his omega status to tempt Roman. Thought he could sway and control Roman the same way he'd done with every man before him. But Roman wasn't just a man. He was something else entirely.

Roman had rigged their game before they even started it and Jason followed, blinded by instinct, into the arms of a man who had waited long and patiently to humiliate him.

Bruce had Bruno's gun caches at the expense of Jason's dignity. A part of him forever belonging to Black Mask marked with a bloody print of teeth on his collar, right down to the _bone_.

Roman was never just a rat in the same cage as Jason. He was the snake waiting to eat him down the hall.


End file.
